


Save Me the Waltz

by terroruki



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Eventual Romance, Fate & Destiny, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-10-01 21:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20410606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terroruki/pseuds/terroruki
Summary: His looks were unforgiving, the blonde man that is. The blonde man that would appear in his dreams those nights where the world was too still. He was beautiful. Shorter wanted to tell him, but the bullet would always win.





	1. Chapter 1

_ In these dreams it’s always you: _

_ The boy in the sweatshirt _

_ The boy on the bridge, the boy who always keeps me _

_ From jumping off the bridge _

He wakes up to damp pillowcases and clenched teeth. Another dream. He can’t call them nightmares. There’s something so ethereal about the boy in front of him. He can’t classify him as a monster.

It always begins the same. A knife dripping blood. The sound of wicked laughter mixed with pleading cries for it to end. He’s in so much pain, he can’t control himself. He’s tried. The blonde man picks up the gun and stares at him with tear-filled eyes. He yells _ I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. _ But the executioner can’t hear him. He pulls the trigger like he’s killed a million times before but not like this. This time is different, but the story repeats it all the same. He shoots him right through the heart. Shorter falls over. The end.

They’re so vivid it kills him. He’s been to psychics, dream experts, whatever he can think of. None of them give true answers. _ You’ve been hurt by others _ . Or. _ You’re running from something _. Yeah, he’s running. Running from that haunting boy who wants him dead.

His real life is fine, he thinks. It’s painfully average and unfulfilling but nothing worth causing this. This horror rooted in his bones, eating him from the inside out. The circles around his eyes only grow as time goes on. Almost a year of this. What else is there? If he thinks about it for too long, he can taste the red, metallic liquid pouring out of his mouth. He can almost hear the gunshot. He holds a hand to his chest, keeping in all that imaginary blood from a nonexistent wound.

He sits up and rubs his eyes. Crying in his sleep is not a good look. The walk to the fridge is a short one as he searches for an open wine bottle. Anything that’ll let him sleep. The pills don’t work. Perhaps if he took them all at once.

“What are you doing?” Shorter looks up to find Nadia staring at him with exasperated eyes. He still lives with his older sister at twenty-one. He’s been dependent on her his whole life, ever since their parents died. He doesn’t know how to stop.

“Getting water.”

“That doesn’t look like water.” She points to the pinot in his hand, making him sigh and put it back. He’s told her about the dreams, but she doesn’t know what it’s like. She can’t begin to comprehend how screwed up his head is these days. He glances at the stove clock. It’s three am, and they’re both awake. He feels terrible for disturbing her.

“I’m going back to sleep.” Shorter mutters and knows it’s a lie. He just has to wait it out until sunrise. He can’t fall asleep on nights like these.

-

“You’re late.” Lao scowls as he walks in.

“Slept in.” 

“As usual.” His coworker clicks his tongue unpleasantly. He wished Lao would like him. Ever since that New Years party where they drunkenly slept together...Liking boys had always been in the back of his mind, but it wasn’t until then when he actually realized. After that, Lao wanted to progress things further. Shorter didn’t. It was an awakening, nothing more and nothing less. Now one of his only friends has just warped into another contempt ex. He has a lot of those. 

“Hey, shawty.” He immediately smiles at the nickname. It’s tired and doesn’t completely reach his eyes, but it’s there. At least he has Sing. The sixteen-year-old art prodigy for some reason looks up to him, and he can’t thank god enough for it.

“Hey, Soo Soo.” He patronizingly ruffles his hair. The teenager frowns and bats his hand away.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“He’s gonna keep doing it because he knows you hate it,” Lao explains. He’s pretending to read a book and sound bored. It’s Shorter’s turn to scowl. He ignores him and turns to Sing.

“I had a dream about your mom last night.” It’s their code for _ I had a dream about the mysterious boy with jade green eyes again. _

“Was she hot?” Meaning: _ Was it any different than before? _

“Gorier than ever.”

“You guys are fucking weird.” Meaning: _ Why won’t you include me in things? _ Shorter plops down on one of the waiting area’s couches. Wednesday’s are the slowest for business, but he doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t have to worry about someone coming in asking him to pierce their screaming baby’s ears. Instagram is boring. Twitter has nothing new to say. Everything on his phone is So Bland. Everything in life brings back painful memories of happier times. Maybe the sad truth is he peaked in college. Friends, a girlfriend, decent grades. After graduation, the nightmares started. He isolated himself. Lashed out and lost it all. Now he was stuck living with his stupid sister and working a stupid job with stupid Lao. No, he loved his sister dearly. She was just getting tired of his shit. Everyone was.

He missed Amber. She had been sweet to him those three years, but it was never enough. He loved her, he thinks. But he randomly cut her off. What a dickhead thing to do. He would lay in bed listening to her knock on the door. _ You’re clearly here, Shorter. Your car is here. Just talk to me, please. _ Finally, after a couple of months, she stopped calling. No one called but Nadia asking for him to pick a few things up from the store on the way home. But he made his bed, now he would die in it. Jesus, he’s bumming himself out. He looks stupid, too. Just staring into space.

“Hey Sing, wanna tat me?” He turns around just in time to see the kid’s eyes light up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” When they get bored, they’ll draw all over each other. He rarely actually goes through with it. And Sing is ironically afraid of needles, so Shorter can’t pierce him. Again, boring.

He springs up and heads to the station. Sing follows suit. Lao probably rolls his eyes and goes back to reading. Sing takes off the cap of that familiar purple marker. It opens with a loud pop as his face turns mischievous.

“You finally gonna let me draw a dick on your forehead?” 

“Nope. And never will.” Sing lets out a dramatic sigh before starting to doodle on Shorter’s upper arm. Shorter can’t tell what he’s doing, but he trusts him. Maybe that was a bad idea. Ever since he started working here, he wondered how Sing even got this job. Didn’t he have to be in school or something?

“Viola. It’s done.” Shorter looks over to find a dumb little cartoon angel. He smiles. It’s actually pretty dope.

“Okay, do it.” He’s feeling brave. Or rather, feeling numb. Maybe new ink on his skin and stinging pain will help him feel something. It doesn’t matter what the picture is.

“Hell yeah!”

_ Buzzzzz _

_ Buzzzzzz _

_ Buzzzzzzz _

Nothing. He doesn’t feel a damn thing. Mild discomfort, yeah, but none of that excitement and anxiety he’s supposed to get when permanently engraving an image on his body. Sing finishes, and Shorter doesn’t even realize. He’s thinking about those desperate eyes staring at him and taking aim. Maybe it would feel better if the boy in his dreams didn’t look so miserable killing him. Remorse made everything worse. Shorter knew from experience.

“Shawty, you good?” He snaps out of it.

“Ah- yeah. I’m good.” Just then a customer comes in. Sing quickly wraps his arm and gets to work. And luckily, nothing happens for the rest of the day. Shorter can’t be bothered to do his job. It’s a miracle he even gets out of bed most mornings.

They go to some fast food joint after closing up. Three boys all chowing down on greasy burgers and cheap fries in a small booth. Shorter takes a sip of his milkshake and tries to appreciate the little things in life. He thinks about his life, the absolute dullness of it all. This was nice, he has to tell himself. They say their goodbyes and will all probably do the same thing tomorrow.

The subway ride home is crowded and dirty. He wishes he could get a car, but they’re too expensive. Plus, New York traffic is god awful. Shorter looks down at his phone and frowns. He can’t beat this level in Angry Birds This has what his life has come to. Angry Birds. He even spent $5.99 to get the upgrade with no ads.

He rubs his thumb over a spot on his neck that he’d nicked shaving that morning. He’s been trying to feel better, and thus thought he could start by looking better, or at least do what he can to not feel so grimy and worthless by cleaning up something on his face. There is not much to do about the dark circles under his eyes, except sleep more, but he knows that’s easier said than done. In the workplace mirror, he had noted that his dark brown hair spiked up in all directions, no matter what he would do and how he would move. And maybe it made him look a little crazy, but he was fine with it. Because that definition was more accurate than anything.

He missed dyeing it. Maybe he would buy a box of some crazy color like purple and try it out. He scratched his new tattoo through his sweatshirt and felt a sharp pain. _ Ahh, there it is _. It would take a while to heal, and Shorter was prepared to make the process last as long as possible. Pain is good for him. He needs it.

Twenty minutes of sweaty strangers and he’d be home. Shorter can handle this. He does it every day. The barely audible voice came through the speaker telling passengers to board and leave carefully. He continues to sit there. An old man eyes him for the spot, but he can’t bring himself to care._ You’ve been standing for seventy years, what’s a couple more minutes? _ It’s packed, and the abrupt lurch of the car starting to move nearly knocks the man over. Shorter sighs and moves away to the other side. The elder takes happily takes a seat. Now, he’s right next to some kid in a hoodie. They both look at their phones and try not to accidentally bump shoulders.

But something’s wrong. All his senses are on high alert. His heart rate increases as sweat begins to pour out of his hands. Why is he so anxious? Why can’t he go a day without some sort of mental catastrophe? It’s like the air in his lungs is being sucked out of him. He looks around for a sign that anyone else is feeling this, but it’s just him, alone having a panic attack in the subway. Shorter rubs his eyes, trying to get himself together. God, he almost feels like crying.

They stop again at a popular spot, and most people get off. _ Maybe it was just too many people _ , he thinks. _ Maybe I’m afraid of crowds _. He tries to calm himself as he looks through the windows of the car to watch everyone leave. His gaze follows the kid in the hoodie, who takes off his hood to reveal short blonde locks complimenting bright green eyes. Shorter almost throws up. This can’t be real.

“Hey!” He shouts, but the doors are already closing. He runs up to the glass and tries to force them back open. “Hey!” He yells again, even louder. He watches The Boy turn around and walk the other direction to never be seen again. He can’t hear him. Shorter is desperate. He bangs on the door. “Open, open, open.” He chants as his life depends on it because it does. The female voice announces they’ll be departing. Shorter gets one last glimpse of golden hair before nothing but blackness. 

“Shit!” He mutters. “Open the goddamn door! Can you hear me?” He knows they can’t. “Stop the car!” His body feels weak, like his knees will buckle and give in. The sheer weight of knowing he was right next to Him. Was he hallucinating? No one else looks like that. No one else. This wasn’t a dream. His fists berate the subway walls. People are staring. He doesn’t care. Falling on his sword. Choking on his own spit. This can’t be real. “Stop the fucking car!” He cries. He is, in fact, crying. A loud, horrid sob echoes through the small subway train. He’s gonna fucking faint. No, he’s gonna fucking die. 

“Why didn’t you shoot me?” It was supposed to be a thought but comes out a yell. A whole year of his life he spent traumatized by a boy who simply walked away. Another pathetic hiccup as he cries. “I was right here why didn’t you do your fucking job?”

New Yorker’s are always in their own little worlds. It takes a lot for anyone to pay attention to what others do on the subway, so he knows he messed up when a voice says:

“Sir, you need to calm down.” A woman dressed in a blazer and slacks has a stern look on her face. 

“You look like Hillary Clinton, bitch.” He spits out through running snot and hot tears. It’s not even a good diss, but the bullet lodged in his chest tells him there’s no room for mercy. Blood is filling his shoes, can’t she see that? Doesn’t she understand? Going by the look on her face, she doesn’t. He wants to curl in on himself and wait to bleed out. He wants to wake up next to Amber and realize this past year was all a sick, twisted dream.

“Sir, I’m going to have to call subway security if you don’t blah blah blah blah.” Does she have the number to subway security? Why are white people like this? Luckily, the train stops, and he bolts out. 

He goes into the grimy, disgusting subway station bathroom with phone numbers written on the walls and tries to regain a hint of sanity. He can’t even think of anything. His mind is completely blank besides those graphic scenes of violence etched into his brain. O_ f course, he didn’t shoot me. We weren’t in that dungeon. _ He laughs. How stupid! Today wasn’t his day. Shorter grips the edges of the sink and closes his eyes. He can’t go back. The boy won’t be there. He knows this but wants to anyways. Maybe he’ll find a sign of him. A sound, a smell, anything to prove he’s not going crazy. He _ was _there.

After a few minutes of stabilizing his breathing, wiping his face, and trying to look like a productive member of society, he walks out. He can’t use the subway anymore, not after tonight. He’ll bike the thirty blocks to work if he has to.

When he arrives home, it’s almost midnight. The twenty-minute walk in New York cold wasn’t necessarily pleasant. He’s cranky and tired, but Nadia wants to question him anyway. He takes a hot shower first, replaying the images in his brain. He should just forget about it, label it a weird coincidence that he looked like the man in his dreams. But coincidences didn’t feel like this. Getting out, Nadia has hot chocolate and worried lectures waiting for him.

“So what happened?”

“Nothing.” 

“You can’t expect me to believe that.” Leaning up against the kitchen counter, she takes a sip of her own mug. Shorter can easily lie through his teeth, but not to his big sister. Even though they hadn’t been as close ever since their parent’s old Chang Dai shut down, but that was a story for another day.

“I saw a guy that kinda looked like the guy in my dream.”_ That _ ** _was _ ** _ the guy in my dream. _He tries to sound nonchalant like it didn’t deeply disturb him beyond repair.

“Well, humans can’t create a face in their head they haven’t already seen. So you’ve probably seen him around before and just didn’t remember it.” Shorter almost spits out his drink.

“What?!”

“Yeah, I mean, did you think this guy just existed in your head? He’s a real person.” She thought for a moment. “He probably doesn’t know he’s been torturing you, though.” Shorter’s head was reeling. So the blonde man was real? And somewhere in New York? He had spent so much time and energy looking into the wrong things. He shouldn’t have been looking to others for help, he should’ve been looking for _ him _. His hangman. His angel. Nadia looks at him, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, probably not.” Was all he could manage to say.

-

The victor go the spoils, but he was no victor. He didn’t even know where to start. Eight million strangers all living in New York, and his target was one man. At least he was special. Blonde hair and green eyes, that was different, right? Shorter started by looking at modeling companies. It was a bit shameful and bizarre thinking his killer was attractive, but it was a decent first lead that ended up going nowhere. Then, he creepily wandered around the nearby universities on the nonexistent chance he’d run into him. Like a ghost returning to his old haunting grounds, he usually could only stay for an hour or so before feeling sick and leaving. On his voyage, he received some college girls numbers. Maybe he’d call once he figured this shit out.

He even ran his hands along the pages of a phone book, hoping god would give him a sign or some shit. Snow tormenting the ground, he was forced to ride the subway again, endlessly searching for that boy in the hoodie. He never showed up, obviously. His hope was diminishing quickly. Why did he ever think he would be able to do this? Almost a month of searching, and he was in the same spot. Only one thing had changed, the nightmares ceased to exist. He isn’t having them anymore. He isn’t dreaming at all. Nothing but a warm, deep sleep for seven hours straight. Maybe that day on the subway the man had let him go. It was heavenly, if not a little worrisome. Maybe he was satisfied in his search and was waiting to be found.

He calls up that girl, Annie. She’s ginger. Shorter has never been with a ginger before. He’s excited about it. A strange pattern of dating girls with A names arises, but he decides he should let the coincidence just be a coincidence this time. She is funny and sweet and has a cat named after Aslan from Narnia. He wants to kiss her on the first date, so he does. They end up doing a lot more than kissing, and Shorter had forgotten how nice it was to be touched by another person. He had become despicably lonely this past year, maybe it was time to change that.

He is lying with her for the third time that week. It seems she almost likes sex more than he does, which is nearly impossible. He traces the curve of her arm with his fingertips, and she smiles.

“I can make pancakes in the morning if you want.”

“Sure.” Shorter feels his own lips curl upwards. Annie turns around so she’s no longer facing him, and by now he knows what to do. His arm slides around her naked back so he’s cuddling her softly. No gunshots, no boys with angel eyes, just this.

But he does dream that night. It’s of the blonde boy laughing and lightly shoving him. They’re at his parents’ restaurant. It’s still open for some reason, and Nadia’s serving them. _Shorter’s special Chinese breakfast, ready to go._ She smiles at the boy like she’s known him for forever. The killer takes a bite and shrugs, but he’s not a killer in this. Not yet. He’s just a boy. _It’s okay._ _Panda Express is better. _Shorter finds himself becoming unreasonably offended. _Just okay?!_ The boy rolls his eyes. _Yeah. Just okay._ He gives him a grin though, and it’s unbearable how bright he is. How a genuine smile from his can leave Shorter breathless. They’re friends. They’ve always been friends. How could he forget this? His hangman. His fallen angel. His _friend_.

Shorter wakes up the same as always with tears rolling down his cheeks. Instead of bullets, his heart is filled with yearning. No guns, but longing for a boy who’s not even there. He was so beautiful. Eyes made of bulletproof glass with the mouth of a butcher. He scared Shorter, unbelievably so. Shorter would rather go back to his regular scheduled death than this. This sense of companionship is millions of times worse. He turns to Annie, who’s still asleep. Thank god he didn’t wake her. How could he explain this? To anyone? He wants to hold her tight and pretend it didn’t happen. For weeks he’s been anxiously waiting for him to strike, and the devil finally did. 

Now he wants to leave town and never come back until he finds him. That’s impossible though. He just has to live his life. Forget about it. Call up his friends, and if they don’t hate him, hang out. Tell his sister he loves her more. Get his own place and stop searching for a ghost. _ Please, please, please just forget about it. _

-

Angelina loves the library, so she takes Shorter with her. A lovely Saturday afternoon, he would rather be outside, despite the cold. She could have his jacket, and he could put on a brave face against the frigid winds. They could go to a hotdog stand, and he could ask for extra relish. Instead, he’s staring at pretentious Keats and Yeats and whoever. 

The New York Public library is gorgeous, he’ll have to admit. With golden lighting and painted ceiling murals, it’s like what Shorter would imagine heaven to be like. Minus all the books. His new girlfriend grabs his hand.

“Look, they have an original 1888 print of Wilde’s The Selfish Giant, isn’t that cool?” Shorter smiles.

“Dope.”

“It’s not just dope, it’s amazing! This book is more than a hundred years old, and they’re just letting people touch it!” She gently but enthusiastically flips through the pages, eyes full of wonder. Shorter wishes he could feel that passionate about something. His investigation for the dream boy hasn’t stopped, but he doesn’t do it for piqued interest or a fun hobby. It’s survival. He needs to find this man, and he needs to find him _ now _ before his life gets ruined all over again.

“I’m gonna go talk to the librarian and see if they have other prints like this. Wanna come?”

“I think I’ll just walk around for a bit.” _ Meaning: hell the fuck no _ . Instead, he finds himself wandering the nonfiction section: Philosophy and Psychology > Parapsychology and Occultism > Dreams and Mystics. Dreams and Mystics. He cautiously takes out a book, like if he picks the wrong one there’s going to be a trap or pitfall. _ The Interpretation of Dreams _ by Sigmund Freud, wasn’t that the guy who wanted to fuck his mom? No thanks. Shorter sighs and puts the book back. Books weren’t going to help him. Everything he does is just wishful thinking. Everything besides entering the next row to find some kid with glasses. Oh shit.

There’s that sensation again. It’s unwarranted and cruel in the way it strikes Shorter out of nowhere. He’s frightened. How does one man make him feel like this? Like crying? Like he’s standing in that dark dungeon, begging to be killed? _ I’m in so much pain...set me free. _

Not wanting to be seen, Shorter immediately goes around to the other side again. Though he looked a bit different, it was definitely him. Shorter peeps his head around. He’s examining a book called _ The Undiscovered Self _ by Carl Jung. In the dream section. The boy of his dreams is in the New York Public Library looking at a book about _ dreams _.

He doesn’t know what to do. He’d never thought he’d get this close. An angel fallen from the heavens is only a few yards away, a halo of light shining down him on everything. Dream boy wearing thinly-framed glasses and a warm-looking wool sweater, what does he do now? What’s his next step? There isn’t time to think because the blonde man turns to him with a raised eyebrow and asks:

“Can I help you with something?” He’s been found. The same voice that cries _ Shorter Shorter Shorter _ over and over again is now speaking to him as a stranger. But they weren’t. No matter how far away, they could never be strangers. It takes all of Shorter’s strength to move his feet forward so he’s standing in front of him. The devil is just within arm's reach.

“I know you.” It comes out shaky and pathetic. All this time searching, and he didn’t even think of something to say if he found him. Stupid idiot. The dream boy closes the book in his hands with a resonating thud. He doesn’t seem to take kindly to weird dudes staring at him in the library.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I _ know _you.” His voice is a bit more confident this time, but Shorter can feel his hands shaking. It’s the subway all over again. This can’t be happening. If only he had time to regain his composure, to not look like a complete nutjob.

“We’ve never met. Now excuse me,” he turns to walk away. _No no no no._ _You’re not getting away from me. Not until l have answers._ He instinctively grabs his wrist, which turns out to be a horrible decision on his part. He’s now being pinned up against the bookshelf with an arm behind his back. The boy was stronger than he looked.

“I don’t know what you want from me, creep, but you’re not getting it.”

“What?”

“You’re lucky I don’t kick your ass in this goddamn library” It’s a harsh whisper that sends shivers down Shorter’s spine. Even in his dreams, he never had this much contempt in his voice. There was always affection mixed in with misery. Why was acting like the enemy? Was this normal behavior for him?

“Let me go.” He coughs out, and he doesn’t mean it psychically. “Whatever hex or curse you have on me, let me go.” He desperately pleads. The killer does but continues to stare at him with eyes full of rage.

“You’re a fucking pig, finding me here. Talk to me again and I’ll kill you.” He walks away, leaving the book there. Shorter is left feeling horrible and not knowing why. It’s not his fault. He’s not the shooter, so why does he want to apologize? There was so much pain in those couple of sentences alone. Whatever that boy has been through, must be worse than a couple of silly dreams. But they’re not silly to Shorter. They’re everything wrong in his life.

“But you already have!” He calls through a mix of laughter and tears. “Again and again, each night you take that goddamn gun and lodge a bullet in my chest.” He can taste the saltwater sliding into his mouth. When did he become such a crybaby? Everything was so dramatic. When did he agree to star in a goddamn soap opera? The boy turns around nonetheless. A couple of people probably do. He had shouted in a quiet haven.

“Let’s go outside.” He says a helluva lot softer than before. Heart pounding, Shorter follows him out the front doors to greet the sharp winds blowing against him. He should’ve brought a thicker coat. He should’ve prepared his heart for this. They continue to walk down the sidewalk in silence. Shorter can’t stand it in any longer. He wipes his eyes and asks:

“What are we doing? Do you know what I’m talking about or not?”

“There’s a pizza place two blocks away. I’m not going anywhere alone with you.” Not even looking at him or answering his second question, dream boy keeps walking. Shorter almost laughs.

“_ You’re _ scared of _ me _? I’m the one who keeps getting shot!” 

“I have my reasons to not trust strangers.” He says sharply, giving him a quick glance. His eyes were even more vibrant up close. Orbs made of gorgeous jade that had been haunting Shorter for months are finally looking at him in person. It is beautiful yet terrifying, a lot like the boy himself.

“Heh, don’t we all.” Shorter jokes. He wants him to give a knowing glance, a smile, a wink, anything to prove he’s human. Anything to prove he’s not just a figment of Shorter’s fucked up imagination. But he doesn’t. He just keeps walking. 

When they arrive, they individually order and pay without exchanging any words to each other. The pizza joint is cheap and dingy without many customers, and Shorter wonders if this is a usual spot for him. It’s not until they’re both seated in a red, disturbingly sticky booth that he speaks again.

“My name is Ash.”

“So?” It comes out before he can even think to say something else. Knowing his shooter’s name is kind of nice, but it won’t get him answers. He needs to figure out why this is happening and if Ash has the same terrible affliction. _ Do you dream of me? _He wants to ask.

“_ So. _I thought we should introduce ourselves, asshole.”

“I’m Shorter.”

“What the hell kind of name is that?”

“Mine.” He squints his eyes, annoyed. He’s been killing him, now he’s insulting him! The nerve of some people...Ash surprisingly smiles. The corners of his lips turn ever so slightly, and it leaves Shorter taken aback at how nice it is to look at. Lovely, just like in his dreams.

The boy across from his takes a bite of the greasy-looking pizza. Shorter looks down at his, not sure if he actually wants to eat it. His Chinese cooking is way better than this, but he doubts Ash will remember if he tells him. He has all these memories of a man he’s meeting for the first time. Leaving Angelina at the library hasn’t even crossed his mind. He takes a slurp of the Dr. Pepper he got from the soda fountain. 

“So why’d you go wacko on me at the library? Did you think I was some kinda mafia boss here to take you out?”

“No,” Ash frowns, “as I said, I have reasons to be wary of strangers. Especially ones who wear sunglasses indoors.” Shorter can’t tell if that was a joke or not, but he snorts anyway.

“They’re prescription. If I wore normal glasses, I’d look like a dweeb like you.” They’re being oddly calm acknowledging he was technically just threatened a few minutes ago.

“I don’t look like a dweeb.” He says completely flat. “And that’s the stupidest reasoning I’ve ever heard.” Shorter wants to retort but decides there are more important matters to discuss. His heart rate still hasn’t gone down. It’s like talking to a criminal and a pretty girl at the same time.

“Why do I keep having dreams about you?” He interrogates. Blondie shrugs.

“You tell me.”

“They aren’t fun, sexy dreams either.” His fist tightens around his drink. He wishes Ash wouldn’t look so nonchalant about all this. “They’re nightmares that wake me up almost every night.”

“You think I like seeing my best friend killed every time I close my eyes?” He snaps. “If I had any control over it, it would’ve ended for both of us a long time ago.” Shorter freezes. So he _ did _have these dreams. The same as him. Now what? What would they possibly do? His best friend. Shorter was Ash’s best friend.

“You think it’s a sign?”

“That I’m going to shoot you? No.” Ash shakes his head and takes a sip of his water.

“How vivid are yours? Also, you call my name, so didn’t you already know my name was Shorter? How long have you had them too? A year? Mine started a year ago and-”

“Hey.” He raises a hand to show him to shut up. “They’re kind of muddled, to be honest. Yes, I already knew your name. I’ve only had them for two months.”

“Two months?”_ Lucky guy _…But if he recognized his name from the dream, that means: “Wait! So you just asked that to make fun of me?”

“You’re a bit slow, aren’t you?” Ash smirks. Shorter pouts. He goes from almost beating him up to teasing him in the span of half an hour. A bit neurotic, if you ask him. But again, he doesn’t know his backstory. His _ anything _. Not yet, at least.

“We gotta find a way to stop this. No offense, but you’re like, the bane of my existence at the moment.” Neither of them speak. Shorter finally gathers the courage to take a bite out his now lukewarm pizza. It’s surprisingly not that bad. Ash fiddles with a strand of his hair. It looks soft. Shorter wants to touch it too.

“In my dreams, you have a purple mohawk.” He finally says.

“Really? I had a mohawk in high school, but it was green.” There was a pause. “In my dreams, you have your ears pierced.” 

“Really?” Ash unconsciously touches his earlobe.

“Your hair is slicked back, and you’re wearing a suit and everything. It’s like you got all dressed up to kill me.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” He says without hesitation, and it leaves Shorter feeling some type of way. They care about each other. Maybe not now, but then. “Do you believe in alternate realities?” The question catches him off guard.

“Alternate what?” Ash rolls his eyes. It feels so familiar for him to be annoyed at Shorter’s stupidity that he has to remember this is their first time officially meeting.

“I’ve been looking into it. People who believe in it say this is just one timeline out of many similar timelines. So maybe there’s a different universe out there where everything is the same, but you dye your hair purple instead of green. Or maybe you dye it blue. You get what I’m saying?”

“I guess.”

“The possibility of a universe out there where I shoot you with those exact circumstances in that exact situation is probable. Certain, even.” Shorter doesn’t really understand it. It all sounds a bit hair-brained to him, but he doesn’t want Ash thinking he’s close-minded.

“So how do we get the nightmares to stop?” Ash stares at him.

“We don’t.”

“What?”

“There’s nothing we can do about it, Shorter.” Ash saying his name gives him chills, but this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He’s supposed to know what to do. How to fix this. Shorter tries to feel anger, but all he gets is despair.

“So what now?” He asks, and it makes Ash smile. Not as full as in his dreams, but maybe it’s best not to compare the two. Imagination and reality getting warped together to create one man. Shorter wonders what the other sees in him. A stumbling idiot, praying to be shot...

“Good question.” Just then Ash gets a text. He looks down at his phone and frowns. “It’s from my boss. I have to go.”

“Where do you work?”

“The library.” Shorter automatically feels stupid. Of course. If he was just a little more studious in his free time, he could’ve easily found his killer months ago. Ash stands up, and Shorter abruptly does the same, almost knocking the table over doing so. He can’t lose him. Not again. They were in this together, and he’ll follow him anywhere.

“I’ll go too. My girlfriend's probably wondering where I am anyway.” Oh yeah, he has one of those now. Ash makes a face Shorter can’t quite decipher. He predicts Ash has a lot of faces like those.

“Girlfriend? I knew you wouldn’t just come to the library on your own.”

“Wha- are you making fun of me?” Ash smiles again, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Though horrifying knowing what he’s capable of. There was no way to fix this.

“Perhaps.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who’s commented or given kudos it means a lot!! hopefully this chap lives up to the hype i find my fics deteriorating w/ each chapter lmao

_ I’ll be your _

_ slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue _

_ and final resting, walking around with this bullet inside me like the _

_ bullet was already there, like it’s been waiting inside me the whole _

_ time. _

Nadia still burns paper money and clothes for their parents. They probably have so many belongings in the spirit world they can share with others. The Goddess of Mercy has so many of Nadia’s prayers she probably no longer picks up the phone. Shorter never really believed in that kind of thing anyway. Though his sister would slap him for saying it, it always seemed like a waste of time and trees. But she’ll do anything to be closer to their family, even if it means practicing their old religious beliefs. Even if it means taking out chunks of herself to be filled with her mother’s culture and her father’s superstitions.

Though he wonders if anyone did that for him when he died. If Ash even knew how. If Nadia cried or if his remains were ever put in an urn. Thinking about all this made him feel like a deadman. A ghost possessing flesh for one more chance at life when he’s already supposed to be long gone. Ignoring the hole growing in his chest, trying to fake it. Even if he has Ash, it doesn’t stop. It’ll never stop until those flakes of paper finally burn for him.

But Shorter is fun. He’s light. He can take a hit and get right back up, and that’s what he does. Nobody needs to know he is internally decaying because that’s not charming. It’s not _ Shorter _. He’s witty. He’s joyful, sometimes even obnoxious. The only person who might be able to relate to him is Ash, the most intimidating person on earth. So he can’t turn there! He has to push it down and keep living just like everyone else.

“You’re coming to my birthday party, right?” Sing’s almost prepubescent voice rips him away from his thoughts. “It’s next Saturday, and I need cool adults to make it look legit.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s just gonna be a bunch of high schoolers drinking wine coolers.” Lao advises. Shorter was finally getting a sense of the dynamic. Sing and Lao were half-brothers, and it only took him nine months of working with them to figure that out. Also, Sing has to manage school, friends, and now an adult job all at the same time. He does it because it’s his passion. If anything, Shorter should be looking up to _him_, not the other way around.  
“Yeah, and that’s why you’re not getting any.” He sticks his tongue out at his brother. Lao returns the favor. 

“Sorry, I have plans Saturday.” Ash plans there’s no way he could ever miss, even if it disappoints the closest thing he’s had to a little brother. Sing’s shoulders sink as Lao’s face turns to anger. He wanted him to come and chaperone, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Shorter suddenly feels a jolt of guilt remembering how he used chase Lao around the shop trying to tickle him. Or how they would take smoke breaks at the same time just so they could talk alone. He wasn’t always this stiff around him. It was Shorter’s own idiotic idea to lead him on, simply because he liked the attention. Lao is just another person hurt by him, and right then he promises Sing won’t be.

“I can probably rearrange them though.”

“Really?” Sing’s feigned apathy quickly turns back into excitement. Shorter now has to live with the decision of attending a high school house party and subsequently condoning underage drinking. God, he was a loser.

“You can invite your girlfriend if you want.” 

“We broke up.”

“Oh.” For a split second, he thinks about taking Ash, which is the stupidest idea he’s had in a long time. Why was he always thinking of him? Ash was about the farthest thing away from being Shorter’s girlfriend. In the back of Shorter’s mind, there was always a slight fear he would randomly pull out a revolver and finish the job. Definitely not someone he should be taking to a party.

-

“You look nice today,” is the first thing Shorter says to him. And Ash does look nice. He got new glasses that were thinner and shaped his face better. Not that Ash’s face didn’t look nice before. Not that Shorter doesn’t think about Ash’s face all the time, dreams or not. Ash frowns at the compliment.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t sound very grateful. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks.” At least he’s honest. Shorter hadn’t gotten any sleep the previous night. He probably did look like trash. But he’s gotten a bit more confident talking to Ash, or his heart rate doesn’t go into panic mode every time he sees him anymore. 

It’s Saturday, and they’ve been spending every weekend like this: in the library, sitting at a table and reading their respective books. Shorter is on his fifth Wonder Woman comic, and boy is she hot. 

They sit together but hardly converse. It’s never because Shorter has nothing to say; he can talk out of ass for days. But because it’s angel dream boy. He can’t bring himself to speak of anything that’s not relevant to their investigation. Or rather, Ash’s investigation. Shorter is too dumb to help, and the things he does say are met with curt, one-sentence answers. Through hanging out, Ash hasn’t gotten any friendlier. He’ll take what he can get, though. A small smile here and there. The dreams that don’t end in death.

“Anything new that’ll help our research?” Shorter wants to tell him about just how violent the nightmares are, he does, but his mouth won’t open. “Shorter.” Ash waves a hand in front of Shorter’s face.

“Oh, uh, yeah. No.”

“Jeez, you’re really out of it.” Ash already has his laptop open, probably scouring the internet for information on this strange phenomenon. “You should go home early and get some sleep. I can continue on my own.” At first, Shorter thinks he’s trying to get rid of him. It’s as Shorter is one big burden that Ash doesn’t want to deal with today. Though his features almost resemble concern, as he _cares _about Shorter’s wellbeing. Which is enough to leave him feeling sick all on its own.

“No!” He says a little louder than intended. “It’s fine. I’ll stay...Plus, Diana is about to face off with Ares, so I gotta know what happens.”

“Uh-huh.” Ash rolls his eyes and starts typing again. Still looking at the screen, he doesn’t seem to be paying attention, but he slides two books across the table. They’re the next comics in the series. He remembered and got them out just for Shorter. Frazzled, he finally sits down to join the librarian. Shorter can’t help but feel _ something _that Ash took the time to find his comics. Whatever that something is, is to be determined.

“You read any DC or Marvel?”

“Not really.” He sounds bored at the question.

“So what, you just popped out the womb knowing Kafka?” This earns a smile from Ash. A smile he doesn’t deserve but is so pleased to be graced with this fine Saturday morning.

“My brother used to read me poetry and whatnot. I never really got to read any kids picture books.”

“What about Harry Potter?”

“Not even Harry Potter.” He affirms.

“Wow.” Shorter whistles for emphasis. “That’s tragic.” Ash makes a hum in agreement but doesn’t say anything else. He hopes he would talk more about his brother. Just the fact he has one leaves Shorter stunned. He always seemed like an only child. Well, Ash actually didn’t seem much of anything. He was too hard to read. All this could still be a figment of Shorter’s imagination, how would he know?

A couple of hours pass and Wonder Woman defeats all the bad guys, obviously. When he looks up, Ash is still scrutinizing whatever is on screen. Shorter looks back down at the colorful pages in his hands. What now? Perhaps he could go find a semi-academic book to impress his dream-best-friend. Something other than what Ash refers to as “kids picture books”. He’s about to go browse when reaching across the table, Ash peaks over Shorter’s comic.

“You’re just finishing that series?”

“Hey, I’m a slow reader.”

“You’re a slow everything.” He sits back down in his chair and goes back to ignoring him. Instead of the annoyance Shorter should feel at least a hint of, there’s glee that Ash took two seconds out of his day to pay attention to him. To speak to him in that matter-of-fact tone. One day he had said: _ Reading comics is such a you thing, Shorter. _ Damn straight it was. He didn't think Ash even noticed what he was reading until then, or that he cared enough to associate it with him. It was little observant things that only a friend would fully understand. Or perhaps, so starved for human companionship, he is looking far too much into it.

Bored, he rocks his chair back and looks up at the ceiling to count lights. He doesn’t feel like walking around to find a new book. After a few minutes, he asks:

“Found anything?”

“Nope. Just a bunch of pretentious pseudoscience.” Shorter sighs at his confirmation that no progress has been made. 

“Well, you know, actually, it’s funny because I found _ your mom _ in my room last night. Do you think that’ll help?” There was a pause, and Shorter is sure Ash was going to scold his immaturity as per usual. He doesn’t know why he said it, maybe to regain that hint of his younger self slowly being lost forever. Maybe to lighten the otherwise deathly serious mood. Sometimes he wonders where his rambunctious, teenage self went. When did he start deteriorating into _ this _? This sad, mopey adult too scared to do anything. He misses getting high and going to the movies. He misses amusement parks and stolen kisses behind the school.

And the near impossible happens, Ash laughs. It is heavenly and also kind of ugly sounding. He giggles so hard he starts hiccuping, and people turn around to see what was so damn funny. 

That was the very first time he saw Ash laugh. It was two whole months after he’d first met him. 

“C’mon, that was the lowest hanging fruit I’ve ever grabbed. You really liked it?” Shorter continues and can’t help but grin. Ash’s hand clutches his stomach as he uses the other to wipe a tear away.

“It’s just,” another hiccup, “the way you said it was,” another fit of laughter. He covers his face with his hands, not wanting to show how even mysterious librarians like him are capable of fun. Just like Sing, Shorter isn’t sure how Ash was approved for this job or how he maintains it. He’s not a people person, he’s lazy when it comes to organizing the books, and he laughs like this in a study area. Granted, this isn’t a usual occurrence. He finally calms down to look Shorter dead in the eye and say:

“I hate you.”

“Yeah right.” Bouncing off these good vibes, Shorter asks, “Pizza?” Ash typically rejects his offer to go get food, to see Shorter outside of the library setting. He doesn’t even have his phone number. There’s just an unspoken knowledge they’ll both show up. It’s such a big library, but Ash always sits at the same table. Unless someone else is sitting there, then he’ll look mad for the rest of the day.

“Sure.”

“Yessss.” He’s happy, but now regrettably, insanely nervous. Maybe hanging out with Ash was a terrible, horrible, horrendous idea. What was the outcome? They get closer? His dreams hurt him even _ more _? But they’ve already been at it for two months. Shorter can definitely take it. Totally. 

“I’m not paying, though.” He slips on his coat. _ Cheap bastard, _ Shorter thinks. They walk slowly, silently, side by side. Shorter isn’t used to this part of NYC. He isn’t used to anything so far outside of Chinatown. This was nice, and he doesn’t have to remind himself to be happy. He just is. Looking out at the Atlantic Ocean, he suddenly wants to go on a ferry ride. He’s only been to the Statue of Liberty once when he was a kid. It was so long ago, his parents were still alive. The island isn’t anywhere close, but they could at least look around.

“We should get on a boat.” Ash looks to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Like the ferry? Or did you just want to hijack a canoe?”

“Like the ferry, smartass.” There was a pause. “So can we go or not?” He isn’t sure why he’s asking for permission. He’s a grown man. He could get on the ferry his goddamn self without Ash. It’s almost like Ash is his mom saying things like _ we have food at home, sweetie _ or _ we came to study, not play _. Maybe just like a child, he can harass Ash until he says yes.

“If you were going to be annoying about it, I suppose so.”

“I didn’t even say anything annoying!”

“Something was brewing in that small brain of yours. I could feel it.”

“Small?! I can assure you, _nothing _about me is small, my guy.”

“You’re gross.” Ash walks away, leaving any hint of their banter behind. Shorter follows him to the docks where they wait in more silence for the next boat to arrive. Always silence. It seems Ash has nothing to say to him. He wants to ask about his readings but knows he won’t understand it. And Ash won’t want to explain. What could they talk about? What could they possibly have in common besides these fucked up dreams?

“Do you ever use contacts?” Ash’s voice takes him out of it. Wait, he was asking him a question? Initiating a conversation? Wild. Shorter never thought he would see the day.

“Nah. I’m not about to poke my eyeballs when I could just wear these babies.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down to make his glasses move. Ash nods but doesn’t say anything else. Well, that was a little underwhelming.

“Do you actually need glasses, or do you just wanna look studious?” Blondie scoffs, but Shorter can tell he doesn’t mean it.

“I actually need them to read. Plus,” he gently takes them off his face before slipping them back on to demonstrate, “they help with the disguise, no?” Stupid mystery boy and his stupid fucking disguise that piques Shorter’s interest. All he knows about Ash’s secrets is that he has them. Shorter lets out a _pffffft _noise, and Ash frowns. “What?”

“You think you’re so cool, don’t you?” 

“Whatever. I’m not the one who wears sunglasses when it’s overcast.” Shorter takes his off, and his eyes have to adjust to the light. He looks at Ash, blurry, before handing out his glasses.

“Wanna trade?” Ash looks like he just might, but a horn blows signaling it’s time to get a ticket and board.

“After you.” The sea breeze feels wonderful as he walks out on the deck. His arms lay over the edge of the boat, probably not something he’s allowed to do. Wind whipping in his face, Ash steps next to him. Shorter wonders how he’ll manage with such long hair. Well, it’s not that long, but he could put it in a small ponytail if he so desired. Ash in a ponytail...oh no. He can’t have gay thoughts about his dream murderer. He just can’t!

Ash doesn’t seem to mind or even notice. He looks forward at the ocean and lets his hair blow wherever. _ What are you thinking, Ash? _ He suddenly has a question.

“You have any more dreams about me?” He means it jokingly, but Ash answers with a straight face.

“I burn your body afterward.” _ Oh. _ Shorter isn’t quite sure what to say.

“Did I look smokin’ hot?” He can see Ash bite the inside of his cheek to try and keep himself from smiling or showing any hint of positive emotion. He kind of fails at it. Shorter is on a roll today. It’s funny how this was all coming together so quickly. Two months in and he’s finally getting something out of this guy. Maybe Ash was just in a good mood. Maybe fate was on Shorter’s side for once. Their side for once. After a few minutes of gazing at the ocean in silence, Ash thinks aloud:

“This is so boring. I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“You want me to jump in and make it more interesting?”

“I won’t save you if you drown.” They both smile, and Ash finally looks at him rather than just straight ahead. Their eyes meet, and it’s the worst simultaneously the best moment of Shorter’s life. He could get used to this.

-

“You wanna go to a high schooler’s birthday party with me?” It’s 11:30, and he practically sprinted from the subway. station to the library. He’s late and a little out of breath as he says it. The question out of context was undoubtedly suspicious. It was a reminder why he doesn’t speak to Ash unless spoken to. Because this shit pops out. His original plan was just telling him he was busy later today, not fucking inviting him to come along.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Well uh, my friend invited me, and I don’t wanna go alone.”

“You’re friends with high schoolers?”

“Well, I know him through work, so…”

“Do you work at a daycare?” This was going terribly. He laughs nervously, but Ash isn’t buying it. His deadpan would almost be funny if Shorter wasn’t getting the most judgemental glare he’s ever witnessed.

“No, I work at a Daredevil Tattoo. Where a...high schooler works.” It sounded even more pathetic out loud. Wasn’t Shorter planning on working for the CIA or something cool, where he could kick butt and take names? Instead, he lets a sixteen-year-old draw on him all day.

“Sure, I’ll come.” Ash shrugs, and that was the least amount of convincing Shorter’s ever had to do. He should wonder why Ash agreed so quickly, or if he as any ulterior motives, but instead sits down and opens a Catwoman comic Ash had gotten out for him.

Before they leave for the day, he scribbles the address on the back of a bookmark. They’ll meet up at eight, Ash says, and Shorter suddenly feels anxious again. Not like before with Ash, not pure fear of being shot or anything. Scared like the kind of scared you get before taking a girl to the prom. Scared like the _ oh shit, I hope I look alright and don’t smell weird _ kind of scared. This is a chance to impress him, to take him to a lame party and dazzle him with how handsome and charming he is. He cannot mess this up, and it’s the first time in a long time that he cares about something like this so much. Ash makes him feel like a teenager again, so the setting is almost fitting.

He goes home to take a shower and pick out a nice outfit. He puts all his piercings in and flexes in the mirror just to make sure he’s still got it. Shorter wanted Ash to like him from the very beginning, but it was oddly and rapidly warping into something else. Shorter wants Ash to be _ attracted _to him in the same way he is to Ash. Because he really was an angel. A divine being sent down to torture him with quips and smiles, Shorter can’t help but fall into his “mysterious bad boy” trap. He’s not fighting it though. He’ll figure out Ash whatever-his-last-name-is even if it takes him a whole other life. They’ll keep meeting until he gets it right.

He’s still scared though. Scared he has nothing to offer. Ash is so perfect, wise beyond his years. How would he ever keep up? Maybe the dreams are right, all he has to give Ash is his life. He’ll give it gladly if there’s nothing else he wants. _ Just take something from me. Anything and it’s yours. _

Like a G6 is blaring when he arrives at Sing’s house. His parents are conveniently gone for the weekend, and their house has quite literally been turned into teenage anarchy. And very quickly Shorter decides, he _ would _like to be popping bottles in the ice. He should be a responsible adult here, but all these annoying kids he might need a drink or two. As long he doesn’t accidentally throw up on some poor teenage girl, it should be fine.

Some kids have started a shitty game of beer pong where others simply talk on the couch or awkwardly dance, red solo cups in hand. The lights are dimmed and there’s even one of those strobe light disco things. He scans the living and dining area for Sing, but the birthday boy is nowhere to be found. Dammit, without him to explain, Shorter really does look like a big adult loser standing against the wall, surveying everyone having fun. He feels ancient. It’s clear he’s not one of them. If only Ash or even Lao were here to sulk beside him. A voice next to him makes Shorter jump.

“Why are we here again?” It’s Ash. He had changed outfits as well and almost looks like he fit in. Ripped jeans and sweatshirt, cool kid style. Just as he speaks, green light from the disco hits his face, and he looks beautiful. It takes all of Shorter’s willpower to look away.

“My coworker, Sing, is around here somewhere. Look out for a scrawny Chinese kid.” Ash eyes the crowd. There is a surprising amount of people, not like the lame, sober get-together Lao had explained. It almost makes the whole situation worse. Only now does Shorter understand how big of a mistake this might have been. Ash and Lao meeting...Sing probably wondering who the hell this guy was and why he was at his party. Seriously, like what the fuck? Who comes up with these scenarios he’s automatically thrust into? If this went terribly, all he could blame was himself.

“I see a lot of scrawny Chinese kids here, Shorter.”

“Well,” he wants to retort but ends up laughing, “I guess you’re right.” He quickly adds, “Drinks?” Ash nods, and Shorter instinctively grabs ahold of the other’s hand, so he won’t lose him to a crowd of hormonal monsters on the way to the kitchen. He doesn’t even consider how horribly last time trying to touch Ash had turned out for him. It isn’t until they are both staring at a variety of drinks on the counter does Shorter realizes Ash hasn’t let go or harshly pulled away as expected. This is progress! This is, hopefully, a blooming friendship. Alas, he lets go to make sure Ash isn’t uncomfortable.

Though as soon as they get their drinks and re-enter the bustling living room, Ash takes his hand _ again, _ and Shorter’s heart really can’t look into it. They don’t want to be separated, that’s it. His executioner couldn’t have any ulterior motives. It’d be too much to think about. He leads him outside, but Shorter isn’t complaining. It smells like sweat and booze in there.

Shorter had gotten a Bud Light while Ash decided on plain orange juice.

“Not a drinker?”

“Nope.” Thankfully, he no longer has to yell over the music. They uncomfortably stand on the patio, not saying anything to each other and occasionally sipping their drinks. 

“Do you like tattooing people?” Ash finally asks a question.

“I don’t tattoo. I’m shit at art. I just pierce.”

“Would you mind doing my ears for me, then?” Shorter’s heart jumps as he watches Ash sincerely smile while asking. _ Of course, _ he would pierce him. Everybody looked good with a ring or stud here and there. And that Ash trusts Shorter enough to let him punch a needle through his skin...that’s character development, baby. Though he would’ve never taken him for someone who cared enough about his appearance for that sort of thing. Maybe Ash was preparing himself to recreate their dream, getting everything ready before finally shooting him. He can’t afford to think like that, though. He trusts Ash. He knows he does.

He wants to ask Ash if he ever dreams about Shorter more softly as he does. Besides the extremely painful one where he dies, he’s been having more memories recently where Ash and him are best friends. No shootouts, just two bros laughing. They’re _ just _dreams though, he has to remind himself. Not memories. He doesn’t really know this man. He can’t tell him he wants to play with his hair and take him driving on a motorcycle he doesn’t have. He can’t tell him how fate didn’t exist before they met.

“Sure thing. I’m the best piercer in Chinatown.” He brags.

“Good luck to Chinatown then.” Before Shorter can remind Ash he had _ just _asked for one, a scrawny Chinese kid comes running towards them. 

“Yo, Shawty. You made it!”

“Of course.” He ruffles Sing’s hair, and they start a conversation. Shorter asks how many of these kids does he actually know and how the hell he got all this alcohol. Sing dodges the questions by talking about this new tattoo design he has. Ash stands there patiently aside and watches them. After like ten minutes of practically ignoring him, Sing finally looks past Shorter to get a better peek at the stranger

“Who’s the blonde?” Before Shorter can answer for him, Ash says:

“Aslan.”

“Sick name.” Sing compliments like an over-hyped kid, probably because that’s what he is. These are all buzzed kids gossiping about each other and trying to forget how much high school sucks. He really, _ really _shouldn’t be here. Someone calls Sing’s name and he’s gone as quickly as he came. Shorter watches him leave and turns to Ash.

“Why’d you give him a fake name?”

“It’s not. That’s my real name.” Shorter’s mouth comically falls open. “I go by both.” Ash smiles mischievously. Shorter huffs and crosses his arms childishly. He doesn’t want to speak to Ash/Aslan anymore. Too many secrets. Ash brushes a strand of hair out of his face and continues. “I honestly came here to see if you were some old pervert preying on high school kids. You seem to have a good relationship with him though.”

“I’m not a perv!” Shorter turns pink behind his sunglasses. Ash smirks again.

“Let’s go.” He leads him out of the house to his car. Shorter didn’t even know Ash had a car. Then why was he riding the subway? Literally and metaphorically, Shorter is willing to forget it and follow Ash wherever he goes. The destination isn’t important, the man taking him there is. Wasn’t he supposed to find Lao? Who’s Lao? Who’s anyone besides the handsome blonde walking in front of him? It’s not just any car though. It’s a red Mercedes, and Shorter almost faints. They get in, and he can’t help but run his hands along the leather interior. He was never a car junkie, but this shit was nice.

“I got this for my sixteenth birthday.” Ash grips the steering wheel. The key wasn’t even in the ignition. “I barely use it.” He smiles, but it’s cold.

“Why not?”

“Tell me where you live. I’ll give you a ride home” Avoiding the question, Ash starts the engine. Shorter tells him, and they sit in comfortable silence until they’re right outside his apartment. Nothing but the soft hum of the radio playing some classical jazz station. Ash opens his mouth like he wants to say something else but doesn’t.

“I never said sorry for attacking you in the library, so, sorry.” He sighs and lets his hands lie in his lap. It’s been almost three months, why was he bringing this up? Ash isn’t one to usually express regret over his actions. If he does something, he means it.

“You were just defending yourself. You don’t owe me an apology.”

“There are videos of me online,” Ash says suddenly. “Videos of me as a kid, being…” He trails off and takes a deep breath in. “In the library, I didn’t recognize you, and thought you were some sick fuck that somehow found me and was planning to, I don’t know, recreate them. That’s why I hurt you.” Silence stretches between them. Shorter couldn’t even begin to imagine. He hates the world. He wants to murder everyone who’s fucking laid a finger on Ash.

“I’m so sorry-”

“Save it.” Ash snaps. “I’m not in the mood.” His eyes turn dark as he looks straight ahead. “I don’t know why I even told you in the first place. Get out.”

“If it makes you feel better, I-”

“It won’t.” More tense silence. He isn’t sure why Ash was telling him this either, or why he feels so guilty for something Shorter hasn’t thought twice about. It seems so out of character, maybe because he has no one else to tell. Shorter doesn’t need an explanation from Ash, and Ash doesn’t want Shorter’s pity. They were at a stalemate, and all Shorter wants to do now was give him a hug.

“I fell out of a tree as a kid, and my sister laughed at me.” Ash looks insanely frustrated, but there’s a hint of a smile.

“You must’ve had a rough childhood.” He plays along.

“Another time someone stole my blue eyes white dragon, a super rare Yu-Gi-Oh card.”

“Tragic.”

“Then one time I kept having dreams where this guy was shooting me, but then I met the actual guy and he turned out to be really nice and cool and smart. And totally didn’t deserve the things that had happened to him. And I promised the guy from now on I would always be by his side. He can always count on me.”

“The guy says thanks.” Ash looks defeated like all the anger has been drained out of him. Like he just wants Shorter and his corny promises to leave. Instead, Shorter unbuckles his seatbelt and goes around to open the driver seat door. His arms spread out, and he’s waiting for Ash to either take it or deny. Either outcome, he’ll always be here for him if he needs one.

Ash slowly climbs out, so Shorter can wrap his arms around him. He stands there for a few seconds before doing the same. It seems he isn’t used to friends; he doesn’t know what to do, how to act. It’s awkward like he’s never hugged before. Like he’s never been touched without being hurt. They stay like that for a few minutes in the cold New York air.

“You’re my best friend, yeah?” In his dreams, it all felt so real. This was more than a coincidence, but Shorter had already figured by now Ash and him were destined for something greater. Even if he did end up killing him, even if the dreams never went away, it would be okay. He can feel Ash smile on his shoulder as well as the wetness of a few tears.

“Yeah, whatever.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. idk how to respond to compliments but ty for your comments, they mean a lot!!  
2\. there’s about a three month time skip you should know of  
3\. honestly most of this is fluff...until it’s not

_ And no one can ever figure out what you want, _

_ and you won't tell them, and you realize the one person in the _

_ world who loves you _

_ isn't the one you thought it would be _

“I don’t trust him,” Lao says.

“So? I do.” Sing is at school, and their manager is somewhere milling around in the back. It’s just the two of them at the front. Lao doesn’t have to say who; Shorter can already guess. He had introduced them one day as Ash was picking him up from work to go out. Lao’s eyes had flickered with something Shorter almost mistook for jealousy, but it was more like terror, rage born from fear. It only lasted for a millisecond before he returned to his normal stone-faced self. Shorter never brought Ash inside again, yet it’s still coming up in conversation.

“There’s something off about him, Shorter. He’s too…” Lao trails off, searching for the correct word. Shorter doesn’t feel like waiting.

“He’s too what?”

“There’s just something  _ dark  _ about him. Can’t you feel it?!” Lao bursts. A little quieter he adds, “He’s dangerous. I know that much.” Ash can be dangerous all he damn wants. Shorter still likes him, in fact, that’s what makes Shorter like him more. He’s unpredictable yet formulaic. He’s pretty but deadly. He’s now, since been declared, Shorter’s unlikely best friend.

“Don’t want you getting hurt, that’s all,” Lao grumbles before turning back to his book.

“I’m not gonna get hurt.” He lies. Ash isn’t like anyone or anything he’s encountered before. A wounded lynx that has somehow retracted his claws for Shorter, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep it up. They’ll be a time where his luck with Ash runs out. He should’ve stuck with a simple girl like Angelina, but that’s not what he wants. He longs for Ash. Something draws him toward him. He’s just a simple hunk of rock gravity has decided must orbit the scorching sun that is Ash Callenreese. Woah, this was getting way too poetic.

He doesn’t know how to speak to Lao, so he doesn’t. He sticks to doing his job and trying not to overanalyze his and Ash’s relationship, which proves harder to do than expected. Was there something dark about him, almost lethal? No, there couldn’t be. Shorter has to learn the hard way that dreams are dreams, no matter how much or how little he wants them to be reality.

He’s the last one to leave, closing the shop and preparing to take the last bus home, but someone’s waiting for him in the back alleyway, Ash smoking a cigarette leaning up against his bright red car. He frequently adventures into Shorter’s life whenever he feels like it with no warning, but Shorter isn’t complaining. He can’t help but smile at the sight of him glowing in the streetlamp light. Ash takes the cigarette out of his mouth and blows out a puff of smoke.

“Need a ride?” He tries to lower his voice to make it sound like one of those gangsters from the old movies. Shorter just smiles even wider.

“You’re so cheesy.” Ash flicks the remains of his cigarette to the ground and grinds beneath with his converse.

“Let’s go.” They drive all night, no particular place in mind. In Shorter’s eyes, the lights of the city put stars to shame. They take turns with music. Ash blasts his CD of  _ In Rainbows _ by Radiohead while Shorter turns on the trashy pop station and jams to that. Not caring if it’s a cliche, he sticks his arm outside the window and lets his hand feel the cool winds breeze by. He keeps looking to Ash to make sure he’s enjoying himself.  _ Tell me you love this, tell me you’re not miserable. _ There’s no need for talking; there’s nothing to say. Or perhaps there’s everything to say, and they know it’s best to keep it quiet. The night finally ends as it always does, with the two going to McDonalds and eating their suspicious-looking hamburgers outside Shorter’s apartment.

167 days since they first met and Shorter has been counting them all. They spent the majority of summer together, paddle boating, going to the movies, stealing fries off each other’s plate and making up roasts. Friend things. But Shorter still doesn’t know how to act around Ash, not then and certainly not now. He’s so scared of crossing boundaries, of doing anything the slightest bit wrong. Anything that might jeopardize their friendship or the trust Shorter has slowly been accumulating over the past couple of months. He wants to forget about appearances and fully relax around him, and sometimes he does. Slowly but surely, they are learning each other.

Then suddenly, a miracle happens for the second time in Shorter mundane little life. Ash asks:

“Can I come in?” Shorter doesn’t think about the unfolded laundry or condom wrappers in the trash bin. He just says yes. He can feel his hands slightly shake as he unlocks the front door. Ash steps in and looks around, but there isn’t much to see. The house was kept clean besides Shorter’s room, which hopefully Ash won’t want to go into. And the third and final miracle hits:

“Can you pierce my ears now?” Ash has told Shorter about his foster father, how he would never have allowed anything that would take away from his innocent little boy appeal. Now that he’s out of that situation, Ash is racing towards everything that will spoil his purity, make him look more like an adult and not some scared child he lived as for so long. Shorter has corrupted a lot of people into letting him pierce them, but he’s going to be proudest of Ash’s. He frantically moves Ash into the bathroom where he has a borrowed-not-stolen pierce gun from the shop.

“Just don’t do it all sloppy. I’m sensitive, you know.” Shorter wants to “accidentally” pierce his cartilage just for that. In his entire career of doing this, Shorter Wong has never been and will never be sloppy. Earlobes are one of the simplest and least painful piercings someone can do, yet blondie is complaining already. He goes on the right side of him and marks a dot with a sharpie. He has to get somewhat close to Ash’s face to see what he’s doing, and it’s internally killing him.

The gun is lined up perfectly, just a twitch of the finger and he’ll be done. It feels hot and oily in his hands. He takes a deep breath and hears a click.

“Ow,” Ash whines. “You said it wouldn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t. You’re just a baby. Ready for the left?”

Looking at him, blonde eyelashes fluttering over sharp, green eyes as his eyebrows slightly furrow in anticipation for the other stud. This is how Ash should look. Serene, almost whole. Not constantly scolding strangers, rightfully scared of what they may know about him. Not just another victim of the fucked up system. He somehow has found something in Shorter, a haven of sorts. And Shorter prays, whatever it is, he never loses it. He steps back to look at his creation, two simple silver circles resting on Ash’s ears.

“You look badass.”

“Really?” Ash inquires genuinely. He stands up to see himself in the mirror.  _ He looks good, _ Shorter thinks.  _ He looks really good. _

“I think they’re a bit uneven.” Ash fusses, turning his head side to side to get a better look at both piercings.

“Your  _ dick  _ is uneven.”

“Your mom’s  _ tits  _ are uneven.”

"Yeah, I know. I was sucking on ‘em last night.” Ash verbally makes a gagging sound at that, and Shorter laughs. It’s difficult to remember these two are supposed to be grown men.

So here they are, in Shorter’s shared apartment with his sister spending the weekend at her boyfriend’s. She was spending a lot of time at Charlie’s. Shorter feels bad for sort of hoping she would just move in. He could have a place to himself without having to apartment hunt for a billion years. After being in the bathroom to wonder in awe at his new reflection for five minutes, Ash joins him on the couch to watch whatever shitty show is on.

It’s just a bunch of detective dramas and dumb sit-coms. He turns to Ash who is sitting frighteningly close to him, their shoulders touching side by side. Ash’s eyes are glued to the television screen, but quickly notices he’s being stared at and looks back at Shorter.

“What?”

“You wanna watch goofy cinemax porn?”

“That’s a thing?” Ash’s eyebrows raise in interest.

“It’s mostly softcore with shitty actors and sultry music. My friends and I used to watch it drunk all the time.” Shorter smiles at the memory, and Ash smiles back, mumbling an ‘okay.’ Shorter goes to cable on demand and skims the titles. He feels like a dumb kid again. It’s a wonder why Ash, seemingly so mature and intelligent, would agree to this. 

“Hotel Erotica or Passion Cove?”

“Definitely Passion Cove.” Ash giggles, resting his head on Shorter’s shoulder. The intro is horrendous with the title of the episode called ‘The Get Away’. They both make sounds of disgust when the couple kisses and immediately laugh at each other.  _ It’s our last time to sin before you make me an honest woman, so if you’re gonna sin _ , the blonde woman takes off her robe to reveal white lingerie,  _ sin big _ . Ash cackles, a loud, angelic sound that fills the whole living room. Shorter really can’t focus on what’s going on in the show. All of his attention is drawn to the boy sitting next to him, burrowing his face in Shorter’s chest to keep from laughing. There’s a montage of boobs and awkward humping before some woman comes in. The woman stirs things up and tries to get the couple to cheat on each other, then more shots of butts and hilarious dialogue.

It felt natural to be doing this like they were teenagers growing up in the 80s watching goofy explicit videos for fun. Like Ash had just run away from home to hang out in Shorter’s small apartment, eating cheetos and getting high. This has all played out before, and it’s ending was the worst part. But they weren’t there yet. Here, they could be kids for a little longer, couldn’t they? Before the outside catches up and rips them apart.

Ash’s eyes are lidded like he’s half asleep, and Shorter desperately wants to kiss the top of his head. It’s just a simple offer of affection, but he knows he can’t. Instead, he lightly brushes some of Ash’s hair out of his face, feeling the softness on his fingertips just for a second. Ash hums and snuggles closer. Shorter turns the show off entirely in favor of watching angel boy sleep. He continues to caress Ash’s hair in a totally platonic way before drifting off himself. There’s no nightmares or even funny dreams, just Ash’s warmth next to him. And that’s enough. He silently makes a promise that they’ll meet in their next life and all of the other lives after that. Feelings come and go, but this time around they remain.

Was five months enough? Was that enough time to become hopelessly devoted to someone? Even if Shorter doesn’t love Ash, he knows that he did a long time ago. In a universe that doesn’t exist, he loved him so much he was grateful to die by Ash’s hand. He loved him so much he slit men’s throats to keep him safe. He loved him so much that it bled throughout the cosmos into different timelines just find him here. Here with Ash once again, on this shitty couch in a New York apartment, begging to god he loved him back.

Shorter wakes up the next morning with Ash and all of his things gone, and he wouldn’t expect any different.

-

They make it a habit of it. Whenever Nadia goes off to her boyfriend’s place, Ash is the first to know. Shorter’s fingers race against the dial to call him. He can’t spend enough time with Ash. He never gets bored with him. Ash, however, can get sick of Shorter pretty easily, he thinks. One mom joke too many and it puts off his whole mood. There are good Ash days and bad Ash days. Even worse days when Ash won’t return his calls and isn’t at work, where he’s probably curled up in a ball on his bed trying to rip away the touch of those men. Shorter wishes he could be there for him, but Ash won’t allow it. Days like that, if he does show up, his eyes are glassy and he doesn’t talk, just sits on Shorter’s couch and doesn’t say a word. If he cries, it's quiet and not for long.

One day Ash shows up at three am in the pouring rain.  _ I wanted to see you _ are his only words. He sleeps in Shorter’s bed, and Shorter chivalrously takes the floor. When he wakes up, Ash is gone along with a couple of Shorter’s earrings. He doesn’t mind. Nadia, however,  _ does _ mind. She interrogates her brother who is the blonde kid sneaking out this morning was.

“A friend.” She isn’t satisfied with that answer. “He spent the night, and in the morning, he left. What’s the problem?” He’s trying to be reticent about the whole situation, but Nadia sees it as a challenge to pry more.

“The problem is you need to tell me these things, Shorter. The house is an absolute wreck, and you didn’t even offer him breakfast. What kind of host are you?”

“Ash isn’t like that.” He defends his friend without thinking twice. Defending him from what? Shorter wishes he could make Ash pancakes in the morning, see his bed head and bring him orange juice. Ash is always gone by sunrise like a ghost haunting their house. It’s surprising Nadia is only now catching on.

“Hmm? What is  _ Ash  _ like then?” Oh shit. Shorter said his name. He needs to brush this off, quick. His brain goes in circles thinking of something to say that would get her to forget about it, not to mention Ash again. A descriptor for Ash…there was so many. Fierce, kind-hearted, fearsome, witty.

“He’s-“ He’s everything. Maybe Shorter should introduce him to Nadia, perhaps that was the next step. “Different.” Suspicious, she raises her eyebrows. After a second, she says,

“I, stupidly, trust your judgment. Just tell me from now on when guests come over, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.” He’s met with the biggest eye roll known to man before Nadia leaves for her job. She works in the NICU, helping sick newborns and consoling worried mothers. Shorter sticks needles through people’s nipples. See the difference?

Now on a mission to make the two meet, he quickly messages Ash.

**punk_pineapple:** Yo. Ur like suuuper observant so u prolly figured out I live w/ my sister by now. Who is this mysterious woman? You should meet her! Come over 2night I can make the 3 of us dinner

**ashthelynx** : not a big fan of families. they usually don’t like me anyways. sorry, shorter. i’ll have to pass.

**punk_pineapple:** HMPH You’re no fun!! It’ll be chill I promise she’s really cool I’ve literally had dreams about us all hanging out bro

**ashthelynx** : i’ll have to check my schedule.

**ashthelynx** : i can most likely drop by and meet her but won’t be able to stay for dinner.

**punk_pineapple: ** Ughghgh okay

He should’ve expected this, but Ash never shows up at all. It’s twelve am, and with work in the morning, he needs some sleep. As soon as he clicks his lamp off, there’s a knock at the door. Shorter sprints up, almost tripping in the dark to get to the doorway. Nadia is also awake, he can hear her slippers shuffling behind him as he unlocks the knob.

“Who the hell is here this time of night?” She whisper screams. Shorter’s heart is beating fast. Well, this was the moment. He opens the door to find a blonde boy with his hands shoved in his pockets waiting on his friend to open up.

“Sorry, I’m late.” Shorter doesn’t ask questions about where Ash goes or what he does and why he’s out here this late, he just lets him in. Ash stops walking as soon as he senses a non-Shorter in their midst.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now.” He looks embarrassed, not directly looking at Nadia.

“Ash, this is my sister, Nadia. Nadia, this is my  _ friend, _ Ash.” He doesn’t want his sister thinking this was some sort of sex meet up in the middle of the night, where they would bang while she’s asleep, and that’s kind of how Ash is making it sound. Shit, now he’s thinking about actually doing it with Ash. Curse his dumb horny brain. Clearly uncomfortable, Ash mumbles a “nice to meet you” before making a straight beeline to Shorter’s room. Nadia huffs at his unfriendliness and crosses her arms.

“He seems nice.” Shorter opens his mouth to protest her snarkiness but ends up just following Ash without another word for spoken. He can hear her loud ass slippers walk back to her room as he closes the door behind them.

“What the hell, man?”

“I got nervous!” Is his excuse. He whispers it so seriously Shorter can’t help but laugh at him. This earns a frown and a not-so-light shove from Ash. Ash takes his backpack and jacket off, flops down on Shorter’s bed, and stares up at the ceiling, usual Ash behavior. He always has some bag when he comes over, yet Shorter has never seen him take anything out of it. Shorter doesn’t even ask him to spend the night. He already knows he will. Ash closes his eyes, Shorter takes a pillow for his usual spot on the floor, and game over.

He wakes up and thinks he’s dreaming. Ash is still in his room, looking at his bookshelf. There isn’t much, mostly comics and his parents’ old albums he doesn’t have a record player for. Ash seems mesmerized by it like he’s trying to soak in every part of Shorter until he can piece the boy together all on his own. But people aren't enigmas. They’re just flesh and blood and chemical equations. And right now the chemical equations in Shorter’s brain are telling him Ash looks amazing with the sunrise coming in from the window speckled on his skin.

“Rubatosis.” Ash thinks aloud. It makes Shorter jump. Apparently, him slightly shifting around was enough to make Ash aware he was awake and also now staring at him. Confused yet intrigued by Ash saying random words, Shorter props up on his elbows to question him.

“What?”

“The unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat...That is how I feel around you.” Not turning around the look at him, Ash says it quietly like he’s confessing a terrible sin. But Shorter is nothing close to a catholic priest.

“Really? You always look so calm.” 

“Guess I’m a good pretender.” He shrugs, tracing along Shorter’s dresser with his fingertips. Is this something bad? Does Shorter scare him? Yeah, physically he might be a bit intimidating at first, but Ash isn’t the type to let a person’s looks determine anything about them. This is something grimly different. This is about the dreams.

“If you have something to say, you can say it.” The dreams haven’t gone away. They’re worse the more he knows Ash, but they’re never present when he’s around. It’s like Ash is the key. Shorter doesn’t tell him this though, doesn’t want it to come across as some cheap excuse for Ash to hang out with him more. But now it’s got him thinking maybe being together did have something to do with it, especially if Ash agrees. Hah, the boy that was causing all his problems is suddenly the cure. Ash looks at him and shakes his head.

“It’s nothing. Sorry, I thought you’d be asleep for a little longer. I’ll leave now.”

“Don’t.” Much to Shorter’s chagrin, his voice cracks. Desperate, he clears his throat. “I mean, you can stay as long as you like.” Ash smiles, and words utterly fail to describe it.

“You’re sweet, but I have to go anyways.” He slips his coat on and combs his hair with his fingers. “See you around, Wong.” He leaves without making a sound, leaving Shorter laying on the ground wanting someone he can’t have.

He makes himself stand up and get ready for work. He can’t be late; what would his excuse be? He spent the morning pining over a man with a blinding smile and eyes he could drown in? Lao gives him concerned looks the whole time. It isn’t until Shorter’s back home after a long day of business does he realize Ash had left his backpack. He stares at it, a black jansport with no pins or keychains. nothing special about it, but it’s  _ Ash’s _ bag, which is enough to make Shorter want to peek inside. A long list of possibilities run through his mind, the main assumption being books. Last time they checked in, Ash wasn’t even reading about dreams anymore; he’s reading  _ The Brothers Karamazov _ by some guy who's name Shorter can’t pronounce.

He sits down on his bed, bag in hand. It’s a violation of privacy. It’s everything Shorter goes against, but wasn’t Ash secretly looking at all  _ his _ things while he slept? What’s the difference? The difference was all those things were on display in his room, not something he had to zip open to find. But what was one look? Nothing. He’ll probably find some books, a wallet, maybe a pocket knife. What he doesn’t expect to find is a Smith & Wesson Model 27 revolver staring right back at him.

Shorter, naturally, freaks the fuck out. He pushes the bag away from him, gun still resting inside. Who the  _ fuck _ carries a gun so nonchalantly in their backpack? He sits there, looking at it for what seems like hours. His mind is reeling yet completely blank. Processing this was too much at the moment. He wishes he hadn’t opened it at all. Aslan Callenreese, that’s what mystery boy was hiding this entire time. A voice makes him jump.

“Are you going through my stuff?” It’s Ash in his bedroom doorway. He knows the key is under the mat, and let himself in. What a convenient time. He always does this, appears uninvited, and usually Shorter is glad to see him. He didn’t even hear him coming.  _ He’s too goddamn quiet _ . Why is Shorter just noticing this?  _ He’s too fucking quiet _ .

“Why do you have this?” His voice is hitched and shaky.

“Why are you going through my things?” Avoiding the question and appearing rather annoyed, Ash’s eyes narrow. Any normal day, Shorter would immediately apologize, feel terrible, but he’s not giving this one up. Ash cooly walks over and reaches for the bag, but Shorter snatches it, holding it close to his chest.

“No!” He startles Ash. He startles himself. He takes a deep breath. “Why. Do you have. A gun in your bag.” It’s not even put away properly, it’s  _ loose _ , shaking around in there with a bag of bullets.

“Shorter,” Ash tries to reason. He almost sounds condescending about it.  _ Ah, Shorter, you stupid little child, don’t you know I’m going to kill you with this? _ “It isn’t a big deal. Most Americans carry at this point.” No.  _ No _ . He doesn’t carry. Nadia doesn’t. Lao doesn’t. Sing doesn’t. Ash brought this into his house, why would he do that if he’s not planning on something? Why is he so uncomfortable meeting Nadia? Looking his sister in the eye?

“You make me pierce your ears. You tell me to dye my hair. You drive me to random places knowing I trust you. It’s all one big trap.”

“Shorter.” Ash saying his name always brought butterflies to his stomach, but now he can’t help but think of more sinister reasonings he’s nervous around Ash. Maybe he knew all along and just wanted to pretend they could be friends, perhaps something more. In his dreams, Ash fucking killed him, that sign alone should be enough, but Shorter’s an idiot. He lets his feelings cloud the vision of what’s right in front of him. The shitty pizza joint, the library, Ash’s car, it all means nothing. It is just a big joke to Ash, some sort of screwed up social experiment.

“It’s not,” Ash says softer. He reaches out to touch him, but for the first time, it’s Shorter who’s flinching away. “Look, I- it’s a means of protection. I’m scared someone from my past might come back and-”

“Leave.” Shorter doesn’t want to listen. In fact, he won’t. He shoves the backpack at Ash mid-sentence. Here’s his chance. He can reach in, pull out the murder weapon, and shoot Shorter right now. It’s his only shot, one bullet, so close range there’s no chance he’ll miss. Their collective dreams can become a reality.

“I get you’re upset, but let me explain. It’s not-”

“Leave. And take that fucking thing with you.” He’s hysterical at this point. He might be crying. Hot, angry tears roll down his cheeks. Explanations wouldn’t be needed if Ash didn’t have it in the first place.

“Shorter.”

“And don’t come by my work. And don’t visit my apartment unless you intend on finishing the job.” Ash can shoot him, whatever. But he won’t pose for it. He won’t build up months of friendship and become some sort of martyr that’ll give Ash character development. He won’t fall in love with him again. If this is Ash’s final solution, fine. Shorter can die with their nightmares.  _ It’s now or never, kid _ . Ash chooses never. He’s looking at him with a dejected expression but doesn’t say another word. He takes his bag, and Shorter hears the door quietly close on the way out. Slamming it isn’t necessary, the bullets say enough.


End file.
